Moderation

I promise this post is not a tattle tale on my husband--I am guilty of the same behavior much more of the time, but I know our life is getting a little out of control when even temperate T is struggling with moderation.

Case Example #1: The Drive Through

Tyler does not like fast food. He read a book (In Defense of Food--all about eating food in its most natural state--something you don't generally find at fast food), plus he's counting our pennies to apply to many, many med schools next Spring. So we don't do fast food. . . except when we're both getting out of class at 10 o'clock on a Friday night and we have to BACK at class at 8 am the next day.

So we're at the drive through and in true Tyler fashion he picks the cheapest thing on the menu--I convince him that we should split a pumpkin smoothie and go for the 10 cent more burger with cheese-- I'm telling the lady over the intercom, 2 burgers, one small pumpkin smoothie, a glass of ice water. . .

Lady at Burgerville: Will that be all for you?

T: And a large fry

S: And a large fry.

Case Example #2:

It's Sunday night--we had a salad for dinner and it's about time to turn in for the night. Family phone calls are almost finished up, and T's in the kitchen.

S: What's going on?

T: I've decided to make homemade hot chocolate and scones-- I need a sweet treat.

Absolutely we need a sweet treat. No complaints by me.

Technically, I guess this still might be considered moderation for a few reasons. First, Burgerville prides itself on only using the freshest ingredients, all from local farms (though I'm pretty sure it was a white flour bun). Secondly, the scones had whole wheat flour. Thirdly, if I'm writing about these experiences as anomalies, it's not the norm. Right?

Jogging in the Fall

This is Portland in autumn--blessed, blessed Portland. I admit that it still takes a bit to get me out jogging 3-5 times per week, but how I love the sunshine and crisp air when I start out, breaking into a rhythm with my ipod as my feet almost magically spin in circles, carting my body onward, ever onward. I loved jogging in Botswana more than any other time in my life, including now, but this day brought me back to those blessed days, too.

Confession: I generally end my runs with David Archuletta's "Touch My Hand"--if you know the song, it's cheeseball, but one time my cousin Kayleen told me the song reminded her of me and T, and since then, I just picture scenes from our lives together as I do that last little push to the finish.

Today I decided to climb one more hill after David's song ended. "Joy to the World" started playing--I laughed to myself and thought I should just turn it off, Christmas is still two months away :) But I was jogging uphill--I didn't want to stop to fiddle with my ipod--and then the clear, forceful, redeeming words rested on me as I fought my good fight-- "and wonders of His love", repeating again and again. I stopped jogging and started dancing. I promise I've not lost all of my senses (yet) but I also promise that I must have been a dancer before this life--when I feel the greatest bouts of joy, I just dance. My sister Lacey might remember me jumping/dancing around our living room a time or two, but for the most part, this is a private affair, me praising the Lord with dance.

I hope I can keep this feeling in my heart today, my sometimes sad and sometimes lonely and sometimes selfish and sometimes hardened and self-pitying heart--the wonders of His love.